I had planned to leave around 2300 at high tide. Since the entire area around the harbor was full of lobster pots (lobster traps anchored to the seabed that are marked by buoys attached to lines, which in turn wrap themselves wonderfully around a boat’s propeller, keel, or rudder), I thought it might perhaps be better to still have some daylight for the first hour. The harbor master grinned and said that the buoys get pulled underwater by the current anyway and are barely visible. Besides, other than what I’d assumed, there’s no slack water here at high tide. So it didn’t really matter either way, but I set off at 2200 anyway, just to have a bit of twilight as a sort of alibi to put my mind at ease.
The leading marks were lit, so it was easy to navigate through the reefs despite the strong cross-current and avoid having to rename the place the “Graveyard of 1001 Ships.” The wind was blowing just right, so I was able to shut off the engine almost immediately and, without having to hop around on the foredeck, sail out of all that rocky mess into deep water using just the jib.
The night was amazing. The sky was clear and full of stars, with shooting stars, so I kept making the same wish over and over. The next day was also very relaxed, and I tried trolling my fishing line a few times to catch mackerel, but they weren’t in the mood I guess. Or we were simply going too fast.
The wind was coming straight from behind, and there was a nasty swell coming directly from abeam which caused the sails to flap uncomfortably. When the wind died down even more, we took the sails down and motored, partly to spare the equipment and the nerves. After a short while, however, we were sailing again—and even almost made it all the way to the islands under sail. I had expected the wind to die down much earlier. The night was beautiful once more, and there were shooting stars again. The light from the Round Island Lighthouse off Saint Helen’s had been visible for some time, and now it was starting to get light. Perfect timing.
My chosen anchorage at Saint Martin’s was more exposed than I’d hoped, but we had plenty of space, the anchor held and the view was great, so we got the dinghy ready and went ashore for the first time in glorious weather. Everything here looked very nice at first glance. There was a small kiosk, and I was craving a soda, but I didn’t have any British pounds on me. The minimum amount for card payments was 2 pounds. So, in addition to the soda for 1.80, I had to buy a beer… for 1.40!!
Back on board, I checked the new weather report and immediately had a lump in my throat. The wind was supposed to come from the same direction, but it was going to be much stronger. To make a long story short: the wind came from a different direction, leaving us completely exposed. The Atlantic swell rolled right into the bay, and we had a terrible night—and, afterwards, a horrible day as well. At least I’d had a chance to check out the island beforehand, because going ashore was out of the question for the time being.
Late in the afternoon, the wind calmed down, so I took the dinghy out for a quick tour of the surrounding rocks and then went to sleep. The night was calm, and I slept like a log.
The next day, we continued on to the uninhabited eastern islands. The anchoring maneuver under sail—and then gliding out of the bay at 1.5 knots in almost no wind—is still pretty exciting for me, especially with the local currents, but when it all works out, it feels great.
While setting the anchor at Great Gannily, I was immediately greeted by a curious seal. It was extremely calm here, and no significant wind was forecast. After a reconnaissance trip in the dinghy, it became clear that I wouldn’t be able to go ashore anywhere comfortably. But that didn’t matter—the view was perfect, and it was wonderful just to listen to the birds and the howling seals. Besides, it always takes me quite a while to plan the next leg of the trip anyway. Keeping a constant eye on the weather and tides is essential here. Some places are simply inaccessible at certain times, or, once there, you can’t get away. If the wind comes from the wrong direction, things can get unpleasant. The electric outboard also needed a minor repair. So there was plenty to keep me busy.
The next morning, after having changed my mind twice, I set off for Bryher in the west of the islands. That’s where I am right now, writing. Again we set off under sail—but an hour later, the wind had died down completely, and this time the trip was a bit longer. So, I started the motor. Aside from keeping an eye on the weather, you don’t want to arrive at the chosen destination too late, because every spot is highly sought after. So far, I’d always been lucky, but that didn’t necessarily mean it would continue that way.
But it did… No one was here. The seabed was a bit trickier than I’d hoped, and the anchor didn’t hold until the third try—and now the first doubts were already coming to me… Aha, that’s why no one’s here—because nothing holds here, probably this will be one more terrible night etc…
I went ashore to explore the beautiful, inhabited island of Bryher, and when I returned, there were already three other sailing vessels in the bay. I caught a small pollock, which I pan-fried plain and found delicious, and the night was wonderfully quiet and relaxing.
A few phone calls the next morning, some tidying up, and then I wanted to take a long walk on the uninhabited island of Samson. On the way there, the wind picked up considerably, and the long walk turned into a short jog. The wind was blowing against the current, and all the boats were spinning around their anchor chains, so close attention was required on board. The outing was still nice, though.
Now the tide has turned. The wind and current are coming from the same direction. Amy’s anchor seems to be holding reliably, and maybe I’ll go ashore again later this evening. We’ll see.
Tomorrow I’d like to go to St. Mary’s. That’s the main island, and here you can only moor at mooring buoys, which are expensive. But that’s where the only grocery store is, and my supplies are running low, and I’d like to continue on to Camaret-sur-Mer in Brittany the day after tomorrow. If necessary, I’d still have enough for the 30-hour trip, but I’d rather have a little extra.
I will add more photos of the Scillies to this post later.
St. Mary’s:
